"Why, Iris, nonsense! Mr. Hughes isn't--isn't accusing me----" "I'll put the questions, and you can do as you like about answering." Hughes spoke a little more gruffly than he had been doing, and looked sternly at his man. "Were you up in this locality on Sunday afternoon, Mr. Bannard?" "I was not. I've told you so before." "That doesn't make it true. How do you explain the fact that Mrs. Pell made out to you a check dated last Sunday?" "I've already discussed that," Bannard spoke slowly and even hesitatingly, but he looked Hughes in the eye, and his glance didn't falter. "My aunt drew that check and sent it to me by mail----" "We've proved she sent no letter to you on Sunday----" "Oh, no, you haven't. You've only proved that Campbell didn't mail a letter from her to me." Hughes paused, then went on slowly. "All right, when did you get that letter?" "How do you know I got it at all?" "Because you've deposited the check in your bank in New York." "And how did I deposit it?" "By mail, from here, day before yesterday." "Certainly I did. Well?" But Bannard's jauntiness was forced. His voice shook and his fingers were nervously twisting. Hughes continued sternly. "I ask you again, Mr. Bannard, how did you receive that check? How did it come into your possession?" "Easily enough. I wrote to my hotel to forward my mail, and they did so. There were two or three checks, the one in question among them, and I endorsed them and sent them to the bank by mail. I frequently make my deposits that way." "But, Mr. Bannard, I have been to your hotel; I have interviewed the clerk who attended to forwarding your mail, and he told me there was no letter from Berrien." "He overlooked it. You can't expect him to be sure about such a minor detail." "He was sure. If Mrs. Pell did mail you that check in a letter on Sunday, it would have reached New York on Monday. By that time the papers had published accounts of the mysterious tragedy up here, and any letter from this town would attract attention, especially one addressed to the nephew of the victim of the crime." "That's what happened, however," and Bannard succeeded in forcing a smile. "If you don't believe it, the burden of proof rests with you." "No, sir, we _don't_ believe it. We believe that you were up here on Sunday, that you received that check from the lady's own hand, that the half-burned cigarette was left in that room by you, and the New York paper also. In addition to this, we believe that you abstracted the paper of value from the Florentine pocket-book, and that you were the means of Mrs. Pell's death, whether by actual murder, or by attacking her in a fit of anger and cruelly maltreating her, finally flinging her to the floor, with murderous intent! You were seen hanging around the nearby woods about noon, and concealed yourself somewhere in the house while the family were at dinner. These things are enough to warrant us in charging you with this crime, and you are under arrest."